


reassurance, it takes some time

by itsmylifekay



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Andy and Nile mentioned, Canon-Typical Violence, Immortal Husbands Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Life-Affirming Sex, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Post Movie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:00:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25764811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsmylifekay/pseuds/itsmylifekay
Summary: Nicky gasps back into reality, choking on the blood still filling in his throat and rolling over to cough into the ground, saliva sticky and sharp against his tongue. His fingers are already twitching towards his gun, hoping it’s within reach but never really sure, not when it’s taken so long.Joe will be upset. He always is when it’s like this-- wounds slow to heal and body unmoving for a few too many raw, dragging beats.Or, Nicky gets hurt, Joe worries, they have sex
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 50
Kudos: 948





	reassurance, it takes some time

Nicky gasps back into reality, choking on the blood still filling in his throat and rolling over to cough into the ground, saliva sticky and sharp against his tongue. His fingers are already twitching towards his gun, hoping it’s within reach but never really sure, not when it’s taken so long.

Joe will be upset. He always is when it’s like this-- wounds slow to heal and body unmoving for a few too many raw, dragging beats.

He finally gets out the worst of the blood, manages to lift his face a few inches off the cement floor before something heavy slams into his back and forces him down again. His eyes are still adjusting, blinking past the blood and sweat staining his face, squinting into the hazy darkness that he doesn’t remember being there before.

Coming back to life is never pleasant, but it’s times like these that he really wonders which is worse: the dying or the reanimation after.

Everything hurts and there is nothing to ground him. That more than anything sends a spike of fear through his chest. Where is Joe?

He was here before, and he never liked to let Nicky wake up alone, especially after a death so violent, so jarring, which took so long to come back from.

He registers the rattle of gunfire, the pain in his head flaring as he’s struck again, skull bouncing off the ground, sounds echoing and throbbing in time to his heartbeat. Where is Joe?

He groans, plants a forearm on the ground and spins himself over just in time to avoid the next kick to his head, gets a leg up and strikes at the knees of whoever’s standing over him. His fingers finally find his gun, curl around it and fire with three resounding cracks: chest, chest, face. There’s a dull thud as the body falls.

Nicky drops back to the ground as well.

Everything is hazy in a way he vaguely registers as not right. Moving shapes. Shadows. Flashes of light.

Finally, _finally_ he hears a gasp of his name, the twin thud of knees hitting the ground just beside his shoulder.

“Nicky,” Joe breathes, voice familiar even through the ringing in his ears. His hands shake as they touch his face, his neck, no doubt tacky and thick with his blood. “Nicolo, amore mio. Destati.”

He breathes, presses his face into the hand at his cheek.

There’s a low curse, then a desperate whisper, “ _Open your eyes, Nicolo_.”

It must be bad, he muses, if Joe is still using Italian, is trying to draw him back with comforts and familiarity, worried that without it he might drift away again.

He forces himself to move, flutters open his eyes but still can’t focus properly, just ends up closing them and reaching up to wrap his fingers around Joe’s forearm instead.

“I am here,” he says. “I am healing.”

“Not quickly enough,” Joe says, something haunted in his tone as he hauls Nicky upwards, hands gentle even as they force him to his feet. Gunshots echo in the space around them. “We need to go.”

Nicky groans as the world spins.

Joe shushes him softly. “I know, my heart, but for now you must bear with me.”

Andy shouts something up ahead, followed by more gunfire and a frustrated curse from Nile. A small smile twitches at his lips.

“For you? I’ll bear anything.”

They make their way haltingly through narrow doorways and dim corridors, Nicky doing his best to hold his own weight, but Joe having to catch him each time he stumbles, tripping over dropped weapons or out flung arms, squinting through the throbbing in his head and feeling a slight tug of worry at how slow things are healing and the large blank space in his memories.

“What happened?” he asks, leaning more heavily on Joe as they take a corner, straightening again as he’s coaxed into a light jog. He knows Joe will know what he means.

Joe’s arm tightens around his side. “Demone,” he spits.

And Nicky knows what _that_ means. He lets it go, decides to ask Andy or Nile about it later, when he has the chance.

By the time they make it outside Nicky’s eyesight has recovered enough to see the car waiting for them, Andy behind the wheel as they stuff themselves in the back seat. She spares him a glance in the rearview mirror as she peels away.

“Doing okay?”

“Marvelous,” he says.

Joe hisses beside him, muttering all sorts of unholy profanity beneath his breath that Nicky smiles at fondly.

Nile looks vaguely sick in the front seat.

She rummages around in the bag at her feet and comes back up with a water bottle and a clean shirt. She offers them both to Nicky. “You might want to, uh… You have something…” she gestures widely to her whole front.

Nicky quirks a brow.

“You look like a zombie, man,” she huffs. “Clean up before we get pulled over. Or Joe loses it, honestly don’t know which would be worse at this point.”

That earns another disgruntled sound from Joe, but a round of soft laughter from Nicky, even a smile from Andy as they speed towards the nearest safe house.

A cursory glance down his front is all Nicky needs to acknowledge that Nile is right. His shirt is in bad shape and he can only imagine what he himself must look like, mostly healed but still sluggishly knitting together in some points along his face.

He strips off the shirt, wets down the cleanest corner of it and does his best to wipe at the thick, darkening red still congealing on his chest and neck. By the time he gets to his face, Joe reaches out and takes the cloth from his hand, unbearably gentle as he rubs at his cheeks and forehead, the arch of his nose.

When he finally drops the ruined shirt into the foot well, the clean shirt is deemed an unnecessary barrier, his palm remaining pressed to Nicky’s jaw, thumb rubbing at the soft skin beneath his eye. He is a mixture of emotions that Nicky has spent centuries learning, a veritable storm raging beneath the clear pools of his eyes.

There is anger in the set of his jaw, concern in the furrow of his brow, fear and rage in the hitch of his breath and something unmistakably fragile in the way his fingers stray down to check Nicky’s pulse, as if stuck between wanting to protect Nicky from the world or burn the whole thing down instead.

“Sono qui,” Nicky murmurs, leaning forehead to press their foreheads together. “Sono qui, amore mio.” He grasps the back of Joe’s neck and squeezes. “ _I am with you_.”

Joe only holds him tighter, practically dragging him into his lap for the remainder of the car ride. Andy meets his eyes in the mirror once, gives him a raised brow that he returns with a rueful smile. They both know it will take time to come back from what’s happened. That he and Joe both will need to be reminded that they are safe. That they haven’t been parted.

Joe is suffering now, but Nicky knows the nightmares will come for him as well – as things heal, as he remembers, as Andy and Nile fill in the missing pieces where Joe cannot. For now, adrenaline keeps him buzzing and alert, pressed to Joe and focused on the present, safe from the sucking memories that will come later.

Nile opens the car door for him once they arrive, giving him a careful once over as he climbs out.

“You look better,” she says.

Her eyes flick behind him just before he feels strong arms wrap around his waist, tug him back against a familiar chest.

Nile hums knowingly under her breath. “Should Andy and I shower first or can you two keep it together long enough to get clean and into bed?”

Nicky turns his head to meet Joe’s eyes, doesn’t have to see him to know the answer but wants to, _needs_ to, does so anyway, just because he can. It calms the nerves that have slowly started to rattle around inside him. Makes him feel safe, comforted, the same way he knows Joe feels safe and comforted in turn.

“That’s what I thought.” Nile turns on her heel and leaves them in the overgrown drive, follows Andy into the house where the sounds of dropping bags and brief conversation breaks up the quiet.

Joe’s lips press to his neck, right against the pulse. “Nicolo.”

Nicky shivers, leans further back into Joe’s embrace.

“My love,” Joe breathes. “My heart, my life, _tutto mio.”_ He takes a shuddering breath, holds Nicky tighter, one hand running up his chest to cover his heart. “You took too long today. They hurt you too badly. Even after I killed them all it was still not enough.”

Nicky covers his hand with one of his own. “I am here now. We both are.”

Joe hums and buries his face in Nicky’s neck, inhales deeply. “It is not enough,” he says. “I need you, Nicolo.”

With a squeeze to Joe’s hand and a careful shift of his weight, Nicky gives his silent agreement, but both of them know they have to wait a little longer. So he tries to distract Joe as best he can, humming a song low under his breath, both of them rocking in the scattered gravel of the drive, carving out a small piece of calm before they can blanket themselves in the relief and reassurance they truly crave.

It seems like both hours and minutes before they finally pull apart, stumbling into the house still close enough to touch, bumping shoulders and hands, tired down to their very bones.

Andy looks up at them from the kitchen table just off the entryway.

“Shower’s yours,” she says, eyes immediately back to the axe in her lap and the smooth arch of the whetstone. Nile is on the couch, feet on the armrest and earbuds in. She pointedly turns the volume louder as they walk past.

The bathroom door shuts solidly behind them.

Nicky’s back hits it a moment later.

“Nicky,” Joe breathes. “ _Nicolo,_ please.” He’s a solid line of heat against Nicky’s body, hands gripping tight enough to bruise, like if he lets go for even a moment Nicky will disappear. His face is buried back in the crook of Nicky’s neck, breathing him in.

It speaks of desperation and fear and it makes Nicky’s heart crack. He hates to see Joe this way, but knows it will fade with time, with reassurance and love to cover the loss and fear.

After a moment, Joe’s fingers loosen, palms trailing up and down Nicky’s arms, his sides, splaying out across his chest. “I cannot lose you, my love,” he says.

“You haven’t.”

Joe looks up, their eyes finally meeting, and it takes his breath away, even after a millennia, to see the love there—the want, the need, unapologetic and unfiltered. The promise of absolute devastation should it ever disappear.

“You won’t,” Nicky amends. “I will never leave you. I couldn’t. My heart knows no other way than to be next to yours.”

Joe huffs a laugh, shakes his head and cups Nicky’s face in both his hands. “You say I am the romantic.”

“You have always been better with words.”

Joe hums, his fingers tracing over Nicky’s cheeks, the soft curve of his lips, slipping his thumb inside when Nicky’s mouth opens to the slight pressure. It’s still salty with sweat and dirt, metallic with blood, callouses rough against Nicky’s tongue.

Joe’s eyes darken and Nicky moans softly at the change, a shiver of anticipation already crawling up his spine. He wants this just as much as Joe. Needs him close, everywhere, anywhere, so long as they’re together, pressed so tightly they can forget for one glorious moment that they’ll ever have to be apart.

He’s pulled forward by those same gentle fingers, chin tilted to meet Joe’s mouth, thumb pressed to the corner of his lips as they taste each other, slow and warm and dizzying in a way that has Nicky stumbling forward into Joe’s chest.

Their clothes disappear into various corners and the shower is turned on, its gentle sound nearly lost beneath the rushing in Nicky’s ears, whole body flushing hot as Joe touches him everywhere except where he wants, because they both want this to last, even if right now Nicky is tempted to cry out with frustration.

“Joe,” he murmurs. “Joe, please, I—”

“Anything, my heart,” Joe says, kissing the hollow of his throat. He looks up at him from beneath his lashes, powerful and beautiful in turn. “You know I will give it to you.”

Nicky groans, hands flying to Joe’s shoulders and clenching tight. “I want your mouth,” he says, gasping when Joe immediately falls to his knees and nuzzles his thigh, beard scraping perfectly at his skin.

“And is that all you want?” he asks.

“Never,” Nicky breathes, fingers pressing pale points into his skin. “I want anything you’ll give me. I want your mouth, your hands, your cock.” Joe sucks a kiss into the crease of his hip and he moves one hand to slide into Joe’s hair, desperate to hold on to his wits for a little longer. “I want you to take what you need and then I want you to take what you want. Everything, Joe,” he says. “Anything. Please.”

The slight twitch of Joe’s fingers is all the warning he gets before he’s engulfed in heat, Joe’s mouth on him, taking him in as deep as he can in the first pass and hollowing out his cheeks, humming appreciatively as Nicky trembles above him. Joe always knows exactly how to take him apart. It’d be embarrassing if they both didn’t love it so much, if Nicky didn’t know exactly how much Joe finds his own pleasure in feeling Nicky fall to pieces in his hands.

His fingers clench and release, hips pushing into Joe’s solid grip as he takes him down again, hitting the back of his throat, tongue swirling around the head as he comes back up. His thighs are already trembling.

Joe swallows him down again, settling into a rhythm that has his breath stuttering in his chest, losing himself easily in the sensations and Joe’s touch. All too soon he finds himself at the edge, wondering whether Joe is going to push him over or pull him back, curious as to what turn their evening is going to take.

He’s not entirely surprised when Joe works him faster, hums around him and swallows until Nicky comes with a shout, unrepentant in his pleasure, in what Joe has taken from him. His legs threaten to give out but Joe holds him tight, stands and gets a strong arm around his waist to keep him upright. He’s tugged into the warm stream of the shower before he even has time to put himself back together, propped up against Joe’s chest and panting into the wet skin of his shoulder, blinking back water that drips in his eyes.

“Always so beautiful, my Nicolo,” Joe murmurs, hands sweeping up his back and into his hair, pushing his fingers through the wet strands and forcing Nicky to meet his eyes. “Beautiful even with dried blood still smeared across your face.”

Nicky smiles at that, can’t help himself. “You never were as impressed with the modern arts.”

Joe scoffs. “That is because you, my love, are a _classic._ Modernity can do as it likes, but some things,” he says, eyeing Nicky meaningfully. “Should be left untouched.”

Nicky hums as Joe begins scrubbing at his hair, groaning slightly when he scratches at his scalp.

The water swirls red and rusty between them, stickiness melting away beneath the soap and warm water and Joe’s careful hands. It isn’t long before they’re both clean and Joe’s hands start drifting lower, making broad sweeps up and down Nicky’s spine before settling at the swell of his ass.

Nicky wraps his arms around Joe’s shoulders, goes willingly when his legs are nudged slightly apart.

A finger soon teases as it his entrance, not pushing, just rubbing gentle circles against the rim. Nicky’s feels himself tighten and twitch. Joe nips playfully at his neck.

“How are your legs?” he asks. “Good enough to walk?”

“Mmm,” Nicky hums. “Yes, I think so. Although I might just enjoy you carrying me anyway.”

Joe laughs and drags his finger with more intent, dipping just the tip inside before pulling out again then taking his hand away entirely, groping Nicky’s ass one last time before shutting off the water.

“A tempting thought, but I feel Andy and Nile have endured enough without me carrying you naked over the threshold.”

“Andy’s seen worse,” Nicky shrugs. “And we’ve seen worse from her. But I suppose we can spare Nile.”

Joe shoots him a look, teasing and unsympathetic. “A true saint.”

They dry off perfunctorily, wrap towels around their waists and ball up their ruined clothes to throw away. When they open the door, Andy is still at the table, whetstone away and replaced with a book. Nile is still sprawled out on the coach, for all appearances asleep aside from the rhythmic tapping of her left pinky finger.

Andy doesn’t even look up as they pass, just reaches blindly for a rag left out at the table and tossing it unerringly into Nile’s lap.

Nicky and Joe are already halfway through the door to their room when she sits up, letting out an exaggerated sigh. “And I thought college dorms were bad. They done?”

“Change of scenery.”

Nile snorts. The couch creaks as she stands. “Gross.”

This time when the door shuts behind them, Joe is already tugging him to the bed.

“Should we be offended?” he asks, sprawled out across the sheets, arms open for Joe to take his place between his thighs, bodies rubbing together in all the best ways, all the ways that feel like coming home.

Joe smirks into his shoulder. “Is that really what you want to talk about now?”

He drags his beard teasingly along the line of Nicky’s throat, stopping to press a kiss to the point of his chin, the curve of his jaw, before finally settling on his lips, drawing him into something slow and sweet that has Nicky’s toes curling in the sheets.

“Mmmm, perhaps we do have something more important to discuss.”

“Discuss, huh?” Joe lifts an eyebrow, pointedly shifting his hips where they’re settled against Nicky’s, keeping him spread open between his thighs.

“I do recall there being an agreement yet to be fulfilled,” Nicky says, cutting off in a groan when Joe ruts against him more firmly once, twice, three times before sliding down his body, trailing kisses slowly down his neck to his chest, lingering on the sensitive planes of his stomach before dropping further still.

Broad hands rub at his thighs, dragging against the hairs there and pushing them further apart until Joe’s shoulders can fit between. His breath leaves him the same moment Joe hitches his legs over his shoulders, fumbling blindly for a pillow before shoving it under Nicky’s hips.

The first brush of lips against his skin makes him twitch, fingers kneading at the muscles of his ass before spreading him open, holding him there for that wandering mouth to inch closer still. Joe nuzzles against the insides of his thighs, his ass, creating pink patches of beard burn that fade almost as soon as they appear. Occasionally, he’ll smooth over the irritation with his tongue, leaving wet patches that linger and cool in the still air of the room.

Nicky’s hands have threaded in Joe’s hair, just holding, an anchor point as Joe finally opens his mouth and licks a stripe across Nicky’s hole. His back arcs and he gasps, eyes wide, mouth open, because even though they’ve spent nearly a millennia together Joe never ceases to surprise him. Sex has never lost its charms for them, and now is no exception.

His heels dig into Joe’s shoulders and back, thighs trembling as he tries to hold himself as still as possible, unable to completely stop the small, desperate movements of his hips. Joe doesn’t try to hold him, just does his best to match the movements with the thrusts of his tongue, sucking gently at the rim every once in a while just to make Nicky gasp and arch all over again.

It’s not long before he feels wet and ruined, mind full of nothing but Joe and the heat steadily building between them. A finger prods at his entrance, slipping in to the first knuckle beside Joe’s tongue. Nicky clenches around it.

“Joe,” he gasps, one hand slipping down to push at his shoulder-- because he knows where this is going, where it leads. “Joe, I want—”

Joe’s mouth is pink and wet when he pulls back, eyes dark as he looks up at Nicky from between his legs. “My mouth and my hands, Nicolo, I remember.”

Nicky’s groan of frustration quickly morphs into something else, Joe’s finger pushing slightly deeper inside him, thumb coming up to tease at the rim.

“I believe,” Nicky says, “that there was something in there about your cock as well.”

“All good things in time,” Joe grins, not repentant in the least as Nicky curses at the ceiling. He wants Joe _now_ , wants to feel every part of him, wants to come apart just for Joe to fill in the splintered seams.

But he will wait. If that is what Joe needs now, if this will make him feel whole, reassured in Nicky’s existence and safety, then he will gladly wait. He shuts his eyes and turns his face to the side, tries to grapple his thoughts back into some semblance of order.

He would wait an eternity for Joe, if he had to.

A gentle hand runs up the outside of his thigh. “Nicky,” Joe says softly. “Look at me, my love.”

His eyes blink open and he glances down to where Joe is waiting for him, expression soft, all the teasing gone from his eyes.

It takes only a moment for Joe to begin to pull away, stopped by Nicky’s legs tightening at his shoulders. Joe just shakes his head, already trying to coax Nicky to release him.

“I would not have you endure for my sake what we should both enjoy in pleasure,” he says. “We do not have to wait. You can have whatever you need, my heart.”

Nicky simply tightens his hold further still.

“I cannot speak in poetry, but I can say it plainly— I need _you_ , Yusuf. That is all I ever need.” The hand in Joe’s hair slips down to cup his face, eyes meeting for just a moment before his mouth tips into a wry smile. “And if ruining me is what will make you happy, then I gladly accept my fate.”

It has the desired effect, a small laugh slipping past Joe’s lips before he turns and muffles it in a kiss to Nicky’s thigh. “Always a martyr, aren’t you?”

Nicky shrugs. “You did call me a saint.”

And just like that the mood lightens, the shadow of apprehension lifted from the room and the corners of Joe’s eyes. Nicky scratches through his beard and touches his fingers to his smile, traces the still wet lines of his lips.

Joe leans over to rummage the lube out from one of their bags, always tucked helpfully into a side pocket for easy access. He tosses it on the covers then leans back down to press a kiss to Nicky’s stomach, rests his cheek against the soft skin there. “A promise,” he says. “that I will always give you what you want. Even if your impatience convinces you I won’t.”

He slips back down between Nicky’s legs, hands spreading him open again, and Nicky leans back into the covers, surrenders himself to whatever Joe wants to give him because in the end there is no greater pleasure than seeing Joe lose himself so completely, so enraptured in Nicky’s body, his sounds and scent and skin, that he allows himself to take a little more than he usually would, pushes Nicky that little bit farther.

His muscles clench and flex with each swipe of Joe’s tongue, skin flushed pink and prickling with the twin sensations of irritation and healing, caught between the two as Joe steadily takes him apart. Before long, he hears the clip of a cap and then Joe’s finger is pressing back inside, this time cool and slick and disappearing easily to the second knuckle, then the third, thrusting in and out in a slow but purposeful pace.

A second joins, followed by the hot press of Joe’s tongue, making Nicky jolt against the sheets. Time fades. His body is a separate being, vibrating, humming, beating warmth in time to his heart and the movement of Joe’s fingers. It is never easy to trust in this life they live, but Nicky gives himself over to Joe without a second thought, leaving only those most vulnerable parts of himself on display for the one man who will always deserve them.

“Yusuf,” he groans. “Yusuf, amore mio,per favore. _Please._ ”

One of Joe’s hands slips up to rub soothingly at his side. “I’m here, my heart,” he says. “My Nicolo. I’m here.”

There are three fingers inside him now, all twisting and thrusting, dragging against that part of himself that makes him shake like lighting has pierced his core. He gasps, twisting, still sensitive from the shower and body debating a second attempt at release, weighing the sweet taste of pleasure and the lingering, astringent ache that is sure to follow.

In the end, Joe makes the decision for him, thrusts three fingers deep and twists, pulls out just to press his thumb to the rim, hold him open for the wet heat of his tongue that spears Nicky open and leaves him shuddering apart, clenching around the ghost of Joe’s fingers and aching for more, begging for it, broken pleas between whispers of Joe’s name.

Hands find his, thread their fingers together and hold him tight as his arms are brought up and pressed into the bed. Joe hovers above him, now a solid weight between his thighs and against his chest, nuzzling at his neck as Nicky slowly comes back to himself.

“So beautiful,” Joe murmurs. “My beautiful Nicolo. My heart. I would keep you like this always if the world allowed it.”

Nicky hums, eyes still closed and body limp as Joe begins to trace gentle fingers across his face, his throat, lingering in a way that has Nicky holding very still. He keeps his breaths steady and calm, makes sure Joe can hear that gentle promise of life as he reassures himself of their continued existence in this world, together.

“I would change but one thing,” Nicky finally murmurs, one eye cracked open to watch Joe’s face as it shifts from sweet confusion to amused exasperation. “And that is the absence of that which you have promised me some time ago.”

Joe shakes his head, buries his face in Nicky’s shoulder and nips at the skin there in reprimand. “You are an unholy terror in bed, Nicolo. No patience.”

“Never,” Nicky agrees. “Not with this. Not with you.”

A sigh spreads warmth along his throat, followed by the whisper of sheets as Joe shifts above him, pulling himself up onto his knees so he can look down at Nicky and run his fingers through the cooling release on his stomach. He is a picture of beauty, smooth skin over hard muscles, thick dark curls and a face Nicky has spent centuries learning every inch of, made up of constellations that can always guide him home.

Sometimes he wishes he had words like Joe, could spill out all of his feelings in beautiful monologues in countless languages, could whisper them into warm skin at night or into the charged air of a hostage situation. Joe always knows exactly what to say to make Nicky feel loved.

Through the centuries, Joe has learned Nicky’s language too, spoken in actions and trust and the million different ways Nicky orients himself around Joe like he’s the sun itself—giver of life and warmth, even in the milky reflection of the moon on the darkest nights.

It gives him some comfort now, to know that Joe can feel his love, can feel his heart beating for Joe just as much as Joe’s beats for him. He reaches out for Joe to take his hands, threads their fingers together once he does.

“I love you,” he says, plain and simple but full of everything he feels in his soul. Because sometimes it feels good to say out loud anyway.

Joe’s eyes soften. “And I you, my heart. More than I could have ever dreamed possible.”

With a gentle squeeze, their hands part, Nicky’s falling to the covers while Joe reaches down to grip his thighs, hitches him up a bit higher before reaching down to slip two fingers back into Nicky’s heat, twisting and stretching in a few teasing thrusts before pulling out to line himself up, a throbbing heat that Nicky cants his hips at. Wants him inside now, wants him inside _yesterday._

He opens his mouth to say something, a quip, a complaint, but Joe knows him too well for that, chooses that moment to sink himself in to the hilt in one smooth thrust, hips flush to Nicky’s ass and a smug smile on his face as Nicky groans through the sensation. His body feels like an exposed wire, sparking and undone.

Joe shifts and Nicky bites back a curse, hands grasping at the sheets until Joe leans forward enough for Nicky to grab onto him instead, fingers leaving shallow scratches down his back that will heal long before they’re finished, curling around biceps until he’s white knuckled and gasping at the ceiling as Joe sets up a tortuously slow pace.

“Ah,” Joe says. “There it is. My beautiful Nicolo has finally run out of complaints.”

Nicky groans, clenches down around him and tries to pull him closer still.

Joe laughs softly, reaches up to push one hand through Nicky’s already ruined hair. They’ll have to shower again before the night is through.

But that is a worry for another time. Now, it is only them, pressed together and moving as one. Joe thrusts, hits that spot in Nicky that makes him clench in pleasure, and they both moan into the space between them, caught in the same inescapable current flowing like lava through their veins.

Joe presses in close, Nicky’s cock trapped between their stomachs as his back arcs. Lips press to his neck, his jaw, before finally covering his own, swallowing the next groan that escapes him and replacing it with the hot slide of Joe’s tongue. Nicky whimpers at the sensation, brow furrowing, overwhelmed and overcome by the wave of feeling that washes over him. It always sets something inside him alight when Joe claims him so thoroughly, wrings every last bit he has to give from his body until he’s panting and sated and can feel nothing but Joe all around him.

His third release comes as a surprise, pulled from him by the slow grind of Joe’s hips and the hand at his jaw, holding him open as Joe takes him so thoroughly. He cries out at the feeling, feels the world darken at the edges as a sharp, unforgiving pleasure rolls through him like a tidal wave. Joe eases him through it, hands rubbing soothingly up and down his sides, lips pressed to his temple and whispers of _‘So perfect, so gorgeous, my Nicolo’_ and _‘My love, my heart, I am here’_ guiding him back to reality.

He’s not quite there yet when he digs his heels into Joe’s back, the dimples of his spine. Not quite there yet, but still certain of what he wants.

Joe pulls back slightly and takes both of Nicky’s hands gently from his shoulders, presses a kiss to each palm before straightening out his fingers, threading them through his own. The sheets are cool compared to the hot press of Joe’s palms that pin him to the bed.

His eyes flutter open as Joe resumes his pace, meets his gaze and holds it even as his thighs begin to tremble. His heart feels like it’s trembling too, caught in Joe’s gaze when he’s already so flayed open and raw. It doesn’t take long, Joe losing his rhythm and Nicky clenching down to urge him through it, letting out a breathless laugh when Joe finally collapses against him.

He turns to press a kiss to Joe’s cheek.

They breathe, settling back into themselves, into each other, letting the urgency fade and be replaced by tired satisfaction. They don’t move until sweat and spit and all other manner of bodily fluids begin to dry between them, making Nicky huff and squirm in complaint when Joe first lifts himself away.

“We are filthy, Nicolo,” Joe says. “You cannot tell me otherwise and I will not sleep knowing that we will be stuck together by morning.” He pushes his hand through Nicky’s hair to soften the words, chuckling softly when Nicky’s eyes slip shut. “Will you join me in the shower? Or am I to play maidservant and bring you back a towel?”

Nicky grunts, noncommittal. Moving sounds horrible, but so does letting Joe out of reach.

“Or I suppose I could see if Nile’s gone to bed,” Joe muses. “Then I could fulfill your earlier wish of carrying you naked over the threshold.”

Nicky hides a smile in his arm, isn’t entirely surprised when he feels fingers wrap around his wrist and tug a moment later.

“I have gone long enough without your face today,” Joe says. “Please don’t attempt to hide it from me now, especially when it is shaped into something so beautiful.”

Nicky stares up at him, speechless but for the way his eyes soften and he levers himself carefully to sit at the side of the bed.

“I will go with you,” he says softly.

Joe helps him to his feet, offers him one of the same towels they had wrapped around their waists when they first stumbled through the door. They do their best to look presentable, then make the walk from bedroom to bathroom, pausing when they see Andy watching them quietly from the couch.

She lifts one eyebrow in their direction. “Feeling better?”

Nicky glances at Joe.

Joe smiles and brushes a thumb across his cheek.

Andy shakes her head. “Nile went to bed. She said she’d see you in the morning, if you managed to wake up by then.”

This time it’s Joe’s turn to glance at Nicky.

It’s no secret Nicky is the furthest thing from an early riser, and with the adrenaline and major healing, he’s due to crash for a solid ten hours. Joe will be lucky to have him up and functioning for a late breakfast. But he isn’t one to complain, not when it means he gets to have Nicky soft and sleepy in the shower, head leaning on his shoulder as Joe rinses them off. Not when it means Nicky curls easily against his chest, slotted together like so many nights before and falling quickly into sleep, jerking awake only once or twice to be soothed back under by Joe’s careful hands and hushed whispers.

Not when it means he gets to wake up in the morning, shaking off the lingering shadows of his own dreams to stare down at Nicky’s face slack and peaceful in sleep, soft in the morning light, more beautiful than anything he could ever capture. He still tries, anyway, passes the time with careful sketches that highlight the strong line of Nicky’s jaw, the soft curve of his lips, the delicate way his lashes lay against his cheeks.

He has committed each detail to memory, but still can’t get enough, would stare endlessly like Narcissus and his reflection, forever enamored by the other half of his own soul.

And when Nicky finally wakes, stretches out against the covers and looks up at him through one bleary eye, whole and healed and very much alive, still obviously pleased from the night before, Joe can’t help but lean down and kiss him-- just to feel the gentle press of those lips against his own.


End file.
